


It's A Cold & It's A Broken Hallelujah

by Keira_63



Series: The Minor Fall, The Major Lift [3]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, F/M, Part of the Minor Fall Major Lift series, Story titles taken from the song Hallelujah, The Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:57:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keira_63/pseuds/Keira_63
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d told that her she’s always counted and he’d always trusted her. It’s something she would have loved to hear in any other time. But at that moment, when he was about to leap off the roof and she was going to try and catch him, she would have given up those words from him if only he didn’t have to do it. Pre-Sherlolly</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Cold & It's A Broken Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part in a series spanning from pre-series until post series 3. It was inspired by lyrics from the song Hallelujah - the series title and each story title is a line, or part of a line, from the song. This part includes series 2, episode 3  
> No beta so sorry for any mistakes.

"Molly!"  
"Oh hello," Molly said, worried about both Sherlock's overly cheerful demeanour and John's serious expression, "I'm just going out."  
"No you're not."  
"I've got a lunch date," she told him, quite proud of the fact that she'd managed to get to date number three with James from the Oncology Department.  
"Cancel it. You're having lunch with me."  
"What?" Her heart skipped a beat. It was one of the things she'd always hoped he'd say to her, and yet she had a strong feeling it would be a working lunch.  
She was proved right by his next words; "I need your help. It's one of your boyfriends. We're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty."  
"It's Moriarty," John stated, glaring slightly at Sherlock.  
"Course it's Moriarty," Sherlock replied, as if there was no other answer (as if she'd never managed to have another boyfriend).  
"Jim wasn't actually my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it."  
And if that was the only upper-hand she could get over Jim ... no Moriarty, then she would take it. Even if it somewhat terrified her to know she'd broken up with a criminal mastermind.  
"Yes, and he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."  
Molly scowled at him as he steered her back to the lab. Bloody Sherlock acting as if it was her fault Jim turned out to be a raging psychopath. She started to tell him exactly that, but he was already talking rapidly about the case and she gave up - there were some battles she just would not win.

Later, as they were analysing, he called her John.  
She tried not to let it hurt too much.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Molly watched Sherlock, as she often did, and she saw what she guessed few observed. She knew it probably wouldn't end well for her to voice her observations aloud, but she couldn't help it.  
"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead. No, sorry-"  
"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area."  
That stung. Sherlock had often ignored her, but, at least pre-rehab, he’d had conversations with her. Granted, most of them revolved around their shared interest in pathology, but they'd talked about other things too ... once upon a time. She carried on, though, because Sherlock should hear what she thought.  
"When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."  
It was hard for her, thinking about her dad, and harder still to continue when Sherlock spoke, "Molly," as if it was a warning.  
"You look sad. When you think he can't see you."  
It was true. In front of John, Sherlock tried to be his usual self. But as soon as his best friend looked away, he didn't just look bored, he looked rather devastated, as if he knew something terrible was about to happen.

"Are you okay? Don't just say you are, because I know what that means - looking sad when you think no one can see you."  
"You can see me."  
"I don't count."  
(If she could have seen how sad those words made him look, if she had known at the time, perhaps she would have realised there was hope for her after all).  
"What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything I can do - anything you need, anything at all - you can have me. No, I just mean. I mean, if there's anything you need, it's fine."  
"What could I need from you?"  
He seemed genuinely puzzled, and she berated herself. She was an idiot to think she could offer him anything.  
"Nothing. I don't know. You could probably say thank you, actually."  
That just slipped out, the demand for a thank you. She knew how rarely Sherlock spoke those words, but she just wanted some validation from him, some sort of indication that he was grateful for what she did.  
"Thank you." More puzzlement. She didn't know why she bothered.

Her last few sentences were a blur in her mind. Anything to get out of what was turning into an incredibly awkward situation.  
(She didn't hear his words, didn't realise that he might actually need her).

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was leaving for the evening, mind full of worry. Greg had called her to say that Sherlock and John had been arrested and then escaped custody. She could scarcely believe it - it was true that Sherlock wasn't the nicest of men, but she knew he wasn't capable of what the police thought he'd done. Nor was he the fake people seemed to have started believing he was. Even Greg, always a staunch and loyal friend, sounded slightly unsure. She forced herself not to rant down the phone at him, shout that Sherlock was unusual but not a mad kidnapper. She didn't though. She figured he had enough on his plate at the moment.  
She was worried, though. She sent Sherlock a text, asking him to just let her know that he was ok. She didn't expect to be surprised (and scared) by his sudden appearance just as she was getting ready to lock up.  
"You're wrong, you know," he told her, sounding more vulnerable than usual, "you do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you were right. I'm not okay."  
She took a breath. They were words she was so pleased to hear, but she wished it wasn't under such bad circumstances.  
"Tell me what's wrong," she said, thinking that (for once) he might actually do so.  
"Molly, I think I'm going to die."  
She wanted to panic, his words sending hundreds of terrible scenarios rushing around in her head. But panic wouldn't be good. She had to be calm.  
"What do you need?  
"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?"  
Of course she would, though it didn't matter. Sherlock was exactly what she thought, good and bad. Never a fraud, never a fake.  
"What do you need?" she repeated.  
His eyes met hers and she knew that what he said next would probably change her life.  
"You."  
She could never really deny him anything.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a complicated plan, made even more difficult by the fact that Sherlock could not directly talk to Mycroft, who was helping to mastermind (much to Sherlock's consternation - he insisted his brother's help wasn't necessary, but Molly knew it was).  
Since Mycroft was almost certainly under surveillance, any contact between the brothers went through Anthea and disposable phones were used for every call. It made things safer, though, and that was vital.  
She had to find a body similar to Sherlock's that wouldn't be missed to be buried in Sherlock's place, and she had to try and make that body look like Sherlock (though broken by the fall). Most importantly, she had to be the one to declare him dead.

Molly was happy not to know the whole plan. It was safer that way.  
Unfortunately, it meant she pictured numerous dangerous scenarios that gradually pushed her stress levels higher and higher. She knew Sherlock would (should) survive, but she didn't know the condition he would be in when it was all over.  
He could end up with cuts, bruises, broken bones or any manner of injury. For all she knew, he could end up paralysed.  
Her head told her that Sherlock and Mycroft were clever, incredibly so. Surely they could have concocted a plan that would cause little physical harm to Sherlock.  
Yet Moriarty had outwitted both of them at various points. Neither were infallible and they were possibly more vulnerable because they'd always been the smartest and they weren't used to facing an opponent on a more level playing field.  
She didn't want to watch. Didn't want to see it happen. So she worked in the morgue, waiting for the inevitable shock and panic, for sometime to come and tell her what had happened.  
She refused to witness Sherlock's fall.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’d told that her she’d always counted and he’d always trusted her. It was something she would have loved to hear at any other time. But at that moment, when he was about to leap off the roof and she was going to try and catch him, she would have given up those words from him if only he didn’t have to do it.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They sent Mike Stamford, who stammered out what had happened, clearly worried about her reaction.  
She gave a good performance, channelling all her worry and trying to imagine what she'd feel if Sherlock really had jumped (it wasn't too difficult; she could still remember what she'd felt during that terrifying drug overdose incident).  
Mike brought John in, shaking and rambling, and she pulled herself together enough to get him to Greg's house (Sherlock would soon be at her flat and 221B was out of the question, considering what had just happened).  
She didn’t stay with them, and they didn’t ask her to. They knew her well enough to see her pain and the fact that she was near weeping. Normally, they might have made an attempt to comfort her, but after Sherlock’s fall, they were barely in a position to comfort themselves.  
She wanted to stay and try to help them, but she couldn’t. She had so much to do and no time to spare.  
Then there was Sherlock. She had to check on him, and knew if she put it off even an hour then she would work herself into a state.  
He hadn’t communicated with her, and neither had Mycroft or Anthea. It was entirely too dangerous.  
She didn’t know anything about the condition he was in. Didn’t know if he was bleeding all over her floor, unconscious or broken.  
She had to know.  
She raced home.

When she found him there, pale, covered in blood (not his own) and shaky on his feet, but alive and relatively unharmed, she couldn’t help but smile (even if it was entirely the wrong sentiment for the occasion).  
It was that or burst into tears.  
When Sherlock gave her the tiniest smile in return, her heart sang.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The success of the plan hinged on Molly completing Sherlock's autopsy. Mycroft had various doctors at his beck and call, but none of them had any particular loyalty to Sherlock and couldn't necessarily be trusted to keep the secret. It had to be Molly.  
She pleaded and argued with Mike Stamford, even cried a bit. She insisted that doing the autopsy herself was the closure she needed. Mike stated that Molly was too close to Sherlock and refused to let her complete it.  
It was exactly how things had been planned. Mycroft stepped in and said he wanted one of his own people to complete the autopsy. Mike wasn't happy, but had no choice in the matter.  
Thus, Molly was able to sign the death certificate in secret, her credentials allowing her to certify the death, but the privacy and Mycroft's influence meaning Barts were not aware - her reputation would be safe when Sherlock returned.  
She was allowed to tell only John, Mrs Hudson and Greg that she had been the pathologist examining Sherlock's body. It gave them all a sense of relief, knowing it was done by someone who cared about Sherlock. She ensured they would remain quiet about it by explaining that she had been refused the opportunity before Mycroft stepped in, secretly. They wouldn't mention it to anyone else.

It almost broke her heart when she had to tell John that he couldn't see Sherlock's body. She wished there was a way, but if there was anyone who might spot that the body was not truly Sherlock (besides those already in the know), it would be John.  
She told him that he wouldn't want to see his best friend looking like he did (head smashed in, face barely recognisable, body mangled), but only Mycroft's edict that no one should view the body but him (for identification) and Molly (for post-mortem), prevented John from trying to see the corpse.  
He shouted for ten minutes at Molly when she insisted he couldn't see it. Then he cried on and off for twenty minutes, before apologising to her and practically running away.  
She felt terrible.  
Greg barely said a word when he found out that he couldn't see Sherlock one more time. He said he'd seen enough unpleasant bodies not to be too affected (a lie, it was always more difficult with a friend). He accepted Mycroft's orders more easily than John, though, and he didn't shout (at her, at least. She heard him bellowing at Anderson and Donovan later on).  
Mrs Hudson only cried. She didn't even ask to see the body. She told Molly she wanted to remember Sherlock as he had been, not as a corpse. Molly cried along with her.

Molly completed the autopsy alone, on a corpse that was (she was ever thankful to know) not actually Sherlock.  
Mycroft identified the body, and in his nod to her she knew he was telling her that the body would pass muster as Sherlock. She breathed a sign of relief, especially when the corpse was released to Mycroft almost immediately after she was finished with it.  
Nobody was any the wiser. Mycroft assured her that there would be no repercussions for her in the matter of falsifying records. Those records would, he promised, be redacted, and the information destroyed.  
Mycroft could be creepy, especially with his government Big Brother tendencies, but she was definitely pleased to count him as an ally.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The immediate aftermath of Sherlock's 'suicide' was hard for all those who cared about him to bear.  
The story was everywhere, and it seemed like every newspaper, news show and current affairs show, not to mention the general population, had something to say. Little of it was good.  
Molly stopped watching the news.  
Many people seemed to take Sherlock's actions as an admission of guilt. They thought he had thrown himself off the roof of St Barts because he had been found out to be a fraud. Molly wanted to shout out to everyone that it was a lie. That Sherlock's reasons had been to save his friends, that Moriarty was the fake, not Sherlock (never Sherlock).  
She kept quiet, though. She expressed her belief in Sherlock's innocence to those who specifically asked (as would be expected of her), but never more than that. She couldn't draw too much attention to herself, especially not while Sherlock remained hidden away in her flat.  
There were supporters, though. Small groups and online communities with slogans like Moriarty was real and We believe in Sherlock Holmes. She was grateful to see some faith in Sherlock. It was a mark of how far he'd come and the seriousness of what had happened that Sherlock kept his mocking of these groups (which sprang up almost immediately following his supposed death) to a minimum, sometimes even almost-smiling at their words of support.  
She even managed to get John to look a little less defeated and broken by showing him such messages of support.  
She hated it, though, walking down the streets or shopping, only to hear someone calling Sherlock a fraud and insulting him.  
She refrained from hitting them all. It was a great lesson in self-restraint.

Sherlock stayed at her flat for three days after the fall. She had time off, compassionate leave. Everyone thought she was just wallowing in grief (which admittedly would have been the case if Sherlock had truly died). In reality, it was a hectic and stressful time.  
Sherlock needed an image makeover. His face was well-known and his features distinct, but he was also excellent a blending in, when he wanted to. She had a few packets of hair-dye left over from when she'd experimented with her hair colour, and so Sherlock soon became a sandy blonde. The spray tan she used very occasionally in the summer darkened his pale skin slightly. They hit a snag with clothing. They knew Molly wouldn't be watched like John, Mrs Hudson, Greg and Mycroft would be, but they were also aware she might be subject to some surveillance and couldn't be seen buying men's clothes.  
Thankfully, Mycroft managed to sort clothing, money and a number of fake aliases (complete with birth certificates, passports and credit cards). She didn't know quite how he had managed it, but it had involved Anthea, numerous members of the homeless network, and strangers dropping random parcels into her bags of perfectly ordinary shopping. It was all very covert and not at all what she was used to.  
The things she did for Sherlock Holmes, she thought as she put an extra packet of biscuits into her shopping basket. No one would think it strange that she had extra biscuits, not considering the grief she was supposed to be experiencing. It was ridiculous, second-guessing every purchase she made as she wondered whether or not the hypothetical surveillance team watching her would think it was unusual. Sherlock, while he didn't eat much on cases, still needed food, especially for when he travelled, so she had the task of sneaking an extra packet or two into her shopping.  
They had no idea if anyone was watching her. Moriarty had not thought her important, but they weren't sure how cautious he and his men might have been. She couldn't do anything suspicious or the whole plan could be ruined, and she refused to be responsible for putting Sherlock in more danger. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having Sherlock staying with her for three days was both better and worse than she had imagined.  
He wasn't too terrible behaviour-wise. He didn't shoot at her walls or leave disgusting (if fascinating) experiments in her kitchen. Still, that may have been because he lacked the equipment for such endeavours. He wasn't as rude as usual and made some attempt at politeness. He was quieter, as well, too busy with dealing with the mess in his own head left by the games with Moriarty to bother her too much.  
The bad things came mostly from proximity. Her feelings for him could, with effort, be ignored or pushed away much of the time. Having him living with her, however, challenged all her self-control.  
Especially since he insisted on sleeping in her bed.  
He often skipped sleep when he was on cases, but he didn't have one and was both physically and mentally exhausted by recent events. He had flat out refused to sleep on her sofa (admittedly not too comfortable) and she'd had to resign herself to sharing her bed (a king sized indulgence) with him. It did not help her feelings for him when he was right next to her with little clothing on.  
She dealt with it, and also (though it was terrible to gain enjoyment from something that came from such a mess) enjoyed having him close, even if that was all it would ever be.

Sherlock asked her to tell him the reactions of John, Greg and Mrs Hudson. She didn't want to, of course. He was often quite above emotion, but he did feel and she knew it would hurt him to know the pain his friends were in.  
She couldn't lie to him, though. Had never been able to. She told the truth. She cried a lot. He looked uncomfortable, but made an attempt to pat her on the back and offer tea. She felt bad, since she was supposed to comfort him.  
He tried. She appreciated that, especially when he was obviously distressed about the reactions to his 'death'. She could read that from him - she was better at reading him than he thought.

On the morning of his fourth day at Molly's flat, Sherlock made breakfast for the two of them. He was a surprisingly good cook, despite his tendency to avoid it whenever possible.  
She smiled and enjoyed the food and Sherlock's good mood (a great improvement on the past few days, though she couldn't blame him considering the circumstances). He participated properly in the conversation, made a joke or two and was generally agreeable.  
Of course, he didn't completely change, so the conversation was focused on interesting cases and autopsies, but she didn't mind that and it was like old times, back in university before the drugs got too bad.  
She was suspicious, as she knew she should be. Especially when, as she left for work, he leant down and kissed her cheek, as he had done at the Christmas party.  
"Goodbye Molly Hooper," he said softly, before disappearing into the kitchen.  
It could have just been a more sentimental goodbye, but she knew Sherlock rarely did sentiment. He wasn't just saying a normal goodbye - it was different.  
She was sad, but not surprised, when she arrived home that evening to find no trace of Sherlock or evidence of his presence.  
She just prayed, every night, to a God she wasn't sure existed, that Sherlock would be safe.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She went to the funeral. It was tiny. Sherlock was quite a divisive topic and so no details of the funeral were given and the only ones who attended the short service were Molly, John, Greg, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft and Anthea.  
The absence of Sherlock's parents was noticed, but Mycroft simply stated that they were too distraught to attend. The truth was that they had been told the truth of his survival and did not want to risk slipping up in front of Sherlock's closest friends when it could be so dangerous.

The funeral was tense and sad and stressful.  
John managed fifteen minutes before he punched Mycroft in the face and stormed off.  
Molly didn't really blame him. She was angry with Mycroft too, but she knew he hadn't ever meant for his brother to be in so much danger. He wasn't a terrible person and it hadn't been just him who underestimated Moriarty - Sherlock had too.  
Besides, it always seemed to be the case that the smarter the person, the bigger the mistakes they tended to make were.  
John, though, would probably never quite forgive Mycroft completely.  
She hoped he would forgive her.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Perhaps it was punishment for lying to her friends. She had to act as if she was grieving, but found herself doing so for real (even knowing Sherlock was alive) because she responded to the sorrow of her friends with sorrow of her own. Then there was the guilt.  
She only hoped that, when Sherlock was able to return, they would all forgive her for the deception and understand why she'd had no other choice.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock Holmes leapt off the roof of St Barts.  
Molly Hooper caught him, saving his life for the second time.  
She didn’t know yet, but saving Sherlock would become a habit. Considering what was waiting in the future, he would definitely need the help.

**Author's Note:**

> See the notes on the series page for the titles of the upcoming stories in this series.  
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
